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Embraced again
My soul races
And is nourished times ten.
Filled with sacred knowings -
The mind's eye is glowing.
Reaching heights
Of indigo light.
Soft
And gracing the skin
Gently
As i fall within.

Flowing amidst
I am pieces of the sea.
I innerstand the motions
Of the winds that we breathe.
I see love growing green.
Stitching in gold, the fabrics
Of our never ending dream.

Together is our only way
To save our sleeping days.
United we can awake.
I am forever chasing grace.

Blessed again
With an exotic luxury.
The world
And love's potency
Is floating me along.
I tune in to
My favourite song
And slowly drift away.
Reaching heights
Of violet light.
Quiet
And losing the time
Clearly
As I fully unwind.

Floating admist
I am particles of air.
Simple stardust being -
So transcendent and aware.
We are a never ending flow
This is the only thing to know.
So I bring this all within me.
For here's our biggest goal:
To Stretch Beyond Our Realm,
And Be One Universal Whole.

Together is our only way
to save our sleeping days.
With love we can awake.
I am forever embracing grace.





(( miss.....mica. )) ***
<3
You are a beautiful person.
We are capable of greatness.
In fact, we were born into it.
This is a beautiful realm.
<3
Micheal Wolf Mar 2017
I can say with up most confidence, that I knew not what love was, till I knew what love wasn't
SelinaSharday Jun 2018
Flowing up to the surface
Submerged under the waters..
Chocking gasping for a bit of air..
swollowing.. suffocating.. On Life..
sorrows_hardships..
Just can't even imagine the reasons behind the tragedies...
Of what evils lurks in earthly places..
With the ability to rearrange and change peoples faces.
After all the hearing and the witnessing.
The feelings and the knowings.
All the seeing of evils news....
I didnt realize I was chocking emotions deeply bruise.
Anxiety snatching the ability to breath where its comfortable..
Breath normally..
Panic sneaks its way in..makes me uncomfortable in my skin.
Pulse rushing pulsating.
All of a sudden the sheer emotion of losing.
Can't see another day lighting the way..
Soul feels the falling when you realize
there's so much suffering..
Arms gone limp all passed out..From the exhaustion.
This is when God holds yah in His arms.
Calming down irregular heart beats.
God breaths His air into you. His breath is your air..
as he breath Life back into you.
Resuscitate He is the air you breath.
Without Him you can't breath there's no air without Him.
He pulls you up to this worlds surface..
This worldly ocean called life.
Where day by day moments felt like drowning.
He gives you inspiration and sets within you a song.
Tells you to keep holding on..
Revive..
The ocean is still there
but for now..I have been brought up to the surface.
hear it on soundcloud copy n paste link below
https://soundcloud.com/selinaros3y/atherbest-revive-0-1
S.A.M @h.e.r 2018
resurface again
POSSIBLE May 2022
Court of owls
New ink, new shoes
Clocks on, I'm about to run it

Fast as my pain's Timeframe, bout to gun it

I hope you feel something better my man,

I'm feeling something
I'm feeling something better than planned


Tuck in the winter, dam i fall into action
springing past Morty and summer
While I'm watching TV slumber
shaking off chains of reactions

is it a new start
call it innov8ing
or maybe to our past
Definistrating

memories,  atoms alternating
like the world sputters aspirating

Spit split straight portals compensating
I'm drunk on Dark matter ever oscillating

the wind turned to me
just so it could turn on me

Judgment for eternity
Experience is the same

it howled with certainty
MY Experience denied 3x

so now you hear me?
from this judgment

I'm always ripping free
I don't generate art

so you can whip at me
I might penetrate stars

The universe is an artist
so Why does it  ****** us

Aint the universe ever even heard of us?

I'm the passenger and still woozy the sickness
feeling the pressure but I gotta be a witness

compassionate, no judgment
we all have our reasons

~Got a spot that I  keep w33d in
Hidden with the green stem bleedin

we may have different heavens
but we come from the same soil
When others decide our emotions
Got so many reasons for defense,
reach out and tipped it for the deflect
emotions reflect the deficit of me breathe
I just shake my head
so heavy, I need rest

Court of owls
Port of vowels
I am Born of miles

So I adult when you consult the Occult

knowings the lotion but still decomposin
all this is music I just need to recompose it
Saved another life Now the reaper owes it

I think I've got amnesia,
Waking up to
Sir you had a seizure
Eyes always look like
Man...I wouldn't wanna be ya

Empathy
is another form of slavery we sign up for

We live and we learn
Boomerang on the mic
I go and return

But its not just about living well
its about knowing the root of life

its Taking the threads in your hands
to rack the rains and crack the chains

Caught in the dream, my ego forgets
Sleep is such a shy death

*Court of owls
Port of vowels
I am Born of miles
in the Korn of howls
John C. Lily-> what was he about?
Hannah Mary Jul 2014
I just wish
That I knew where we stand
But I already know
Deep down
That we stand nowhere
On a shallow island
Surrounded by the depths of a Black Sea
With no escape

My feelings are trapped
Deep down
Where my knowings are
My feelings are chained together
With my emotions
And my hopes
And my fantasies
They keep sinking down to the bottom of that black sea,
Wherever it's bottom might be
feeling like this ***** and emotions always get the worst of me
Poetoftheway Jun 2018
weeding ‘n planting,
(ten rows of garlic, waiting to bite caressing hands)

<•>

unsurprisingly to me
garlic native to northeastern Iran,
so says the arbiter-know-it-all, Senor Wikipedia

did you know that,
amongst us,
a young woman whose back
is bent,
bent over,
weeding and weeping, while picking,
retrieving the fruit of the plain earths plane

spending days
retrieving spring-planted bulbs in the sun,
a mysterious poet residing among us
conjuring up poems and, ****, even
plants questions
with granted permission

asks a strangers gasping queries
so simple she renders his
body from soul, makes him
disclose his crazy ill-at-ease
showing
his own
general roots,
slumbering deep in reddish brown soul’s earth

one whose only great escape
through the written poem
when his back is straight,
straight against the wall
backed up,
and ripe for the picking

in reparation

the favor will be returned
three inquiries will be fedex’d
if I ever learn her address

for now, in the  throes of soil resting within,
my need knowings just nurturing
until the calendar declares time!
harvesting is now

when we ready shake hands
when you say

“here is the garlic tended,
and here are our hands,
bitten and caressed”

till such time I get
the answers from
the farmer herself,
I can patient wait

further research needs
original sources,
till such time,
make up tales
that will hold in abeyance
my half contented garlic dreams
for was it not written centuries ago:

Even After All this time The Sun never says to the Earth, "You owe me." Look What happens With a love like that, It lights the whole sky.
Ḥāfeẓ-e Shīrāzī
Eclipsing Moon Oct 2011
Chapter Three



Déjà vu- poem by Muse


My life, sometimes I ponder,

God.....did he fashion my hands and skin from another?

Am I just a recovered tired vessel,

refurbished lung and breath, reassembled, to be something fragile?

My fears and defects I feel are not my own,

borrowed and rented maybe, from someone once known.

Your voice just a proverbial song.

It feels ancient, but like an undercurrent, it carries me along.

My story perhaps is a plagiarism of you,

a reincarnation of what I might answer, and what I might do.

With every deliberate ill-mannered step,

someone before me, has already passed, lingered, and slept.

My soul, has it lived before?

It seems to be the same narrow path, but a different revolving door.

Seeking answers in restorative dreams,

this body, however temporary, is not what it seems.

My thumbprint a reminder of her,

your girlish vision, a familiar relic, with a haunting blur.

Is this a case of refuted Deja vu?

Or just maybe, she's a vicarious spirit, that has been there too.



I.... felt as If  I was dropped into the middle of the park like a tornado touched down and regurgitated my entirety into the dirt.

Siting and looking around I thought to recover my senses from the last years worth of experiences and the seemingly odd and recurring ???types of things. A kind of Déjà vu of someone elses life.They must have been a mystic because they seemed to see…I seemed to see…as thru a proverbial glass darkly.

I found that peoples thoughts and memories were easily seen and felt in their presence and that their entire life histories were… Mine ..just for the looking or rather thinking of the thought to trigger their inner most secrets. The intricacies of their lives and the interrelated woven tapestry of their Dharmas and Karmas were unfolded to my mind and knowings as one continuous scroll of life.

Invigorating and compelling to be part and parcel to the workings of Life , but confusing and tiring keeping up and interacting as a vocation.I was supposed to be a Home Design specialist with a hobby of -White Lite WICCA….Hobby of the weekend I chuckled to myself.

Well ,now I was fully awake and centered again ..and as I rose from my place in the dirt I noticed I had been sitting as was far too familiar as of late and pondering the strangeness of my life…in the middle of a strange place , not remembering how I got there or why. Well so much the bother ,I was here now and I believe my calendar says I have , oh yes an appointment I’m late for already. Up I get and brushing myself off,I head out in the direction for my Meeting with a small company of Artists decorating their loft and space for exhibiting their recent works. Clover- Wolf was the odd name of their business.

Well maybe a quick design idea there…wolfs head over a four leaf clover…hmm well maybe not, Lame at best.







prev chapter


© 2011 Eclipsing Moon-blood red
Christian Bixler Mar 2019
It was in the spring,
season of new birth
that I first saw you,
weeping in a stand of
wonder that you had
sown.

You seemed then
as a grass, tall as all
the rest yet distinct,
caught in a wind,
and the scent
of blossoms.
You danced, and your
music wound its
way to the sky
and brought
the birds.

As the dawn through
a roof of young leaves
your coming woke me,
and showed me a world
of such beauty that
I felt alive, in a way
I had almost forgotten.

You were the dawn,
and the breeze in
Springtime; you were
wild and you were calm,
carefree and sorrowful,
heartless and compassionate,
thoughtless and full of
knowings. In my ignorance
you were a discord,
a tumble of notes that
proved beautiful,
despite itself. In my
ignorance you were a
wonder. In my knowledge
you are a miracle,
far beyond the reasons
of your being.

You asked if I would
remember you, and in
my heart I laughed as
well as wept. For how
could I not? To ask if I
would forget you, who
had brought such fervor
to my life; such joy.

It was beyond foolishness.

If I weep, forgive me,
for I could wish for
nothing more than to
make you smile; it is
this love in my heart
that does not permit it.

In love I say,
I will remember.
I will remember.
I will remember.
In love.


Farewell.
Lysander Gray Jan 2013
We graced the morning
after wandering
one way antique streets
your pain and comfort found themselves
unwrapped from all deceit.

All you were and all you are
From your head down to your feet
called to me through rising dawn
stung with personal defeat.
And I wished that you would smile,
I prayed that you would laugh
sans misery or grief,
The way you did as we once wandered
antique one way streets.

And I know you seek redemption.
with an eye locked on belief,
And you know I love the way you looked
When the sunset kissed your cheeks.
I was silenced by beauty then,
my words were obsolete
the poets purpose put away
down antique one way streets.

I cannot write like Cohen
Or Cave, Blake or Swift
but all your inner knowings
held me in the heat
and all I ever wanted
is to never feel defeat.

But this I'll know,
and this I'll want
till time starts to retreat.
If I could take away your pain
as I know you know my grief;
I would hold you as I did that day
down antique one way streets.
Madeline Jan 2012
what poetry is:
a cacophony of tangled-up images
and slashed-to-the-bone words.
a waterfall of bitterness and
passion and
(words, just words).
a jumble of unorthodox punctuation,
and spacing,
and spelling,
a painting with verses of rainbow-colored years.
foggy-eyed venting,
bitter-mouthed shouting,
soft-hearted pleas
to the people
(hearts and love).
not-quite sentences,
half-finished ideas,
cliches and brutal originalities,
shocking in their genuine
and raw
and profoundly inspired power
(things we didn't know we were capable of).
cravings and achings and wantings and knowings and
(words, just words).
so won't you read between the lines?
it's all so much simpler



than it seems.
M L Soo May 2017
When I partook of strange
Fruit, I held my lips a-
Gasp to cough up new
Found Anger resting, gently, within
The rotting fleshy-drupe.
This Giving Tree bears
Unto me, a bitter crop and yet
A sweetness fills my soul
Swinging Lower and
Lower from the Poplar Trees,
Wisdom shadows me-
In histories quiet breath,
I leave from this garden in a fiery haze
Yet enter the world better still...
Tranquility,
A abashed day dream,
Calamity,
A reality of hearts pains.

What is it to feel one's way through an abyss of unknowns,
where the human and natural world collide in juxtaposition?
Is it that the mind can discern the hearts knowings?
Or is it the failings of the heart to render the natural rivers flow?

Shall we, as mere children, all grown and flawed in our big kid boots,
cause one another to wrongfully believe we have grasped the essence of truth through adversity? Through pain full and enveloping of the mind and the soul?
Shall we find the rule maker of this maze and thus find the exit to this contrived reality?
How is it that the simplest instructions become the foundation of or collective despise and demise?
Or was it that we as children found simplicity far too boring and dry in its humor for us to adhere too?
And if not, then pray chance did we fail to heed the warnings of self and our wishes laid waste and unanswered upon silly little broken play grounds of our imaginations?
So many questions, so many answers found lacking, for our tempered and trusted depressions of self abuse and lazy eyed visions to the core of a shared doom, a doom we all tread lightly in our heavy footed dance to say, we are sorry, as we render excuses and blame to others for our lack of adherence to what can only be understood as what is and what we all have created.
For we, are much ado about everything in its nothingness of day dreams, yet we cast such emotions out as the act of a motion to grant forward cleverness in a dull bladed running to find absolution's in one anothers arms, all the while we turn a blind eye and a reddened cheek to ourselves and the you in me and the me in you.
SO in such failings of victory we say to our selves and the collective of our hearts content, "it weren't mine" as the **** thing went blind.  
Yet in all of this, we children seem to glimpse the hope so dangerous and sweet as to dare to care and realize, we are far from the edge of an oblivion so cruel and lacking, and we can truly grace a simple truth to one another, and that simplicity is called understanding.
For without it we are left on that broken play ground screaming "red rover, red rover....." and then where would the blind children of ol' Betty be then my dear friends? gone far more than just wild.
Ram Jam Black Betty lyrics
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XmEIV9vJ3m0
Black Betty- Leadbelly
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sYrK464nIeY
Oh Black Betty, Bam da lam
Oh Black Betty, Bam da lam

Black Betty had a baby, Bam da lam
Black Betty had a baby, Bam da lam

**** thing gone crazy, Bam da lam
**** thing gone crazy, Bam da lam

Oh Black Betty, Bam da lam
Oh Black Betty, Bam da lam

Oh baby Black Betty, Bam da lam
Oh baby Black Betty, Bam da lam

Black Betty had a baby, Bam da lam
Black Betty had a baby, Bam da lam

**** thing gone crazy, Bam da lam
**** thing gone crazy, Bam da lam

Baby wasn't none of mine, Bam da lam
Baby wasn't none of mine, Bam da lam

**** thing gone blind, Bam da lam
**** thing gone blind, Bam da lam

Yeah Black Betty, Bam da lam
Whoa Black Betty, Bam da lam

Black Betty, Black Betty, Bam da lam
Black Betty, Black Betty, Bam da lam

Looky here, Black Betty, Bam da lam
Looky here, Black Betty, Bam da lam

Jump steady, Black Betty, Bam da lam
Jump steady, Black Betty, Bam da lam


===========================================
Chuck prophet what makes the monkey dance
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WsLskEhDIyg

What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance

What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance

Birds and bees
Chimpanzees
Buzzing 'round my head
Swinging from trees

She's a deep dish pie
A precious flower
Wrapped like candy
Primped and powdered

While the creepers creep
And the willows weep
In the dead of the night
I'm counting sheep

All night long
I toss and turn
I wonder what
It's gonna take to learn

What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance

What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance

We got brand new drugs
For the same old blues
Satellites peaking
Into your room

A machine to tell me
If you're lying
Sheep for cloning
Eggs for frying

I can meet for lunch
With the man on the moon
Do almost anything
I want to do

Makes no difference
Where you go
Everybody's got a theory
But nobody knows

What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance

What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance

I've peeked through keyholes
On my knees
For clues to life's
Mysteries

From daytime soaps
To late-night cable
Round the corner
Under the table

I'm looking for a love
That can't be named
Looking for a love
That knows no shame

Big or round
Short or tall
I got to get it
Or nothing at all

What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance

What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance
What makes the monkey dance
=================================================
Softly spoken Oct 2011
allow me the great oppurtunity to bless ya heart with peace
take ya soul on a journey of freedom, understanding, and ease
let me travel ya mind read ya every thought and comfort your cerebellum
every bad past thought let me use all my power to shred them
let me erase any thought of ambiguity
put in your mind a thought of us and you only think longevity
can i give you my heart for the knowings of your every thought
i will allow you to be my teacher because i want to be taught
you see im no regular A.G that wants to feel between ya thighs
get entwined and let my fingers ****** deep inside
i prefer to rub your head on a rainy day
look you straight in your eyes with the most firmest face
and say baby what r you thinking whats in your head
rather than how bout i take you to my crib you strip and jump in my bed
i prefer to stare you down and strip you bare
undress myself and we go there
i want to dive deep into ya ocean
swim all strokes until i cant no more to your waves motion
no im not talking bout whats below your waste
but what is behind ya face
i want to get to know you on a intellectual level no matter how long it take
can i get engaged to your mind and marry your every thought
travel through ya pains sorrows fantasies and just get lost
i want to lick and carress in every crevice of your mind frame just to have a taste of your imagination
and after i have learned ya mind then i will explore your bodies temptation
Martin Narrod Dec 2014
Soon my wishes will be verses, earthworms unraveling a silk string that wraps us in the world. Ravishing, I'm raving madly, going crazy, coming, and coming undone. Your physical frame matched with your intellectual marvel drives me totally insane, dumbfounded and looking for all of my marbles. I'd sail a thousand ships to afford even just a glance, you're the oeuvre to all my movements, conducting the symphony of all we have. I've written a myriad of many books: essay, narrative, prose, and poem. That merely begin to document the excitingness interspersed within our knowings.  This mirthy bliss of ours is an overture to our youth, it's this astute aloofness inside these hours fervidly wrapped in a cocoon of me and you.

I'm not coming across, the way that I initially intended to. The truth is I'm clueless on how to take something too awesome for words, and then attempt to put sentences into them. Like those pictures of you I sometimes take when you fall asleep before me. That has been a fantastic example to myself of just a miniature way I adore thee. Scotch, IPAs, and hoppy drinks splattering laughter through the room, now how can I find one of 200,000 words that could even give justice to it.

So whether or not it's romantic, I don't do it for any other reason, except that describing you and I in words is an inadequacy I'm not pleased with. When lips comfort necks, and hair comforts chests. Sleeping nestled like Bell your head nuzzled at my breast. If I could only say, how incredibeautifulamazing it's been- not last month, last year, or yesterday, but every increment between us without discriminating any piece. Then perhaps I'm getting .0001% closer to being able to describe how amazing we make each other feel.
love poem poetry gentlemen romance romantic boys boyswrite chicagopoetrysociety chocolate lips necks necking makingout romanticpoetry nonromanticpoetry rhyme meter between you and I sleeping nestled please joy happiness happy ecstatic classy comfort clueless drinks drinking alcohol laugh laughter mused and amused musedandamused krispies ricekrispies kristine kristinescolan miniatures fervid bliss glowing blushing kiss kissing *** love lovers tryst handsome **** fallingasleep prose freestyle stream of consciousness martinnarrod martinnarrodloveskristinescolan essay book narrative paper longform short shortprose stanza poetrymagazine thousandships helenoftroy greek movements frenchpoetry in french coming ******* *** writers writing men women womensfashion RTW excite ravishing fairytaleromance hope hopeless romantic SexyBoyz boys boyz mere astonish student professional ragstock dross lame IPA scotch hoppy drinks Link Zelda Miley Cyrus Taylor Swift Just physical pulchritude cynosure themostbeautifulamazingwoman in the world I love you more than anything Conductor music musical about music women girls people Life Earth nature earthworms fishing britsarawest westcoast condoms safesex frame painter facebook dot com forward slash martinnarrod britniwest aloof couture
Tom McCone Jan 2016
dug up my own bones, what
a shock, from the soil. found
myself amidst the roots and
stones, tangled up, not an act
of fiction or faith. just position.

and, so, turned to the wrought
ligaments of my jaw, i asked
"why were we buried so
shallow?". but, bones don't speak.
history is nameless and without
sight. we stand on the precipice
of a crumbling tower, and, down
in the cellar, ferment languages
unspoken. hands in pockets,
well, i wandered down,
expressionless, steps ringing
hollow on the uncatalogued
leaves of stairs, and drank deep
of tongues untouched. and such
are all knowings. and god knows
i learnt next to nothing, but that the
sun always rose. that lovers spurned
each twilight, waiting.

and for all of the square meters
grown up in glades everlasting,
for all the soil tilled and grass
come back brighter, my shoes
were all the muddier, my eyes
were full of eternal shine, my
****** heart was healin'. the
sky was only blue.
Zead Nov 2014
Without an authority, you are your own authority. But yet what do you perceive? Right and wrong? Truth and false? 

So can you observe within yourself?

Did you observe anything before ever observing what is inside of yourself, or was it afterwards? what floats inside of you is only what floats outside of you:
is this not how you come to being? Are you truly finding yourself? Or what are you finding about yourself?
(Your opinion is only a reflection of the exterior from yourself; But that is beyond the point.)
If there truly is not an authority, and if you are the authority; how can anything exist from you alone?

know that what you perceive isn’t from you. It is only within your consciousness.

Truly you only know that you exist because of what exists outside of your existence; although you are not proven to exist without the absence of your existence.

Whatever you trust in isn’t from you; and only faith can be what you believe in. So whatever you put your faith in
it can only be of your own knowings, but you cannot have faith in yourself alone.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 28
the waters of the Sound, churning,
make my hands a five-in-hand knotted,
full of writhing wriggling writing poem
lines with an go<hesitant~go  slow, knowing that,inspiration is daring me, just as the  whitecaps are, troubled trolling so nearby,
gone can hear them mocking me with their
17knot  ‘breeze,’ your lyrics are but
blowing in the wind, soon enough will
shift to someone else, leavening your
deflation with a non~riser sour-dough mix
of unfinished sadness

in advance, knowings that every poem
more like a Monarch butterfly, here but
for a momentary traversal travesty,
gone faster than the eye blink, and this
infilling fleeing fleet urgency more
likely to die on the pyre of unfinished
rejected draftees, unselected for service

nonetheless ~ “follow” lyrics refuse me
to let~leave a poor tribute to vine~die, the
fingers speak in unison, urging me on,
not wanting to escape from this fantasizing
moment, urging me to tap tap tap
evermore!

“ Come taste and smell the waters of our time,”
Richie invites us all to find our own water,
let it work its magic upon our
nerve endings, but,
mine full of sendings, how?

can one sit seated in the Poet’s Nook,
same vista, no visa required ~
just to see it each time
differently, only the truly creative can love it
so much, that they tip into unexplored unexploited
veins of fresh blood and words
and eyes that discern and earn the ability
to write of the old with new inside insights

those! they are the ones you need to follow!
creators! with a small C, see them feel, see them divine with rod, their original water,
from which they emerged, and drink once more, for the water follows them like nutrients, raw materials that nourishes
and they in turn, return to their watery
birth site, their emotional placentae,
drawing from, returning to it new creations

for all of us to follow, fire our senses,
make us!
make art in all our hearts,
and don’t mind me, just

”close your eyes, child, and look at what I'll show you;
Let your mind go reeling out and let the breezes blow you,
And maybe when we meet then suddenly I will know you.
If all the things you see ain't
Quite what they seem,
Then don't mind me 'cos I ain't nothin' but a dream .
‘cos


We
ain’t nothing but a dream,
our disguised muses visiting,
pleading to be
usefully used…
A recurring line from “Follow” lyrics by Richard Merrick, sung most famously by Richie Havens, who made it his marquee signature song, and a standard, immediately ’ recognizable by anyone who listened to music in the Sixities (20th century)

<>
Let the river rock you like a cradle
Climb to the treetops, child, if you're able
Let your hands tie a knot across the table.
Come and touch the things you cannot feel.
And close your fingertips and fly where I can't hold you
Let the sun-rain fall and let the dewy clouds enfold you
And maybe you can sing to me the words I just told you,
If all the things you feel ain't what they seem.
And don't mind me 'cos I ain't nothin' but a dream.
The mocking bird sings each different song
Each song has wings - they won't stay long.
Do those who hear think he's doing wrong?
While the church bell tolls its one-note song
And the school bell is tinkling to the throng.
Come here where your ears cannot hear.
And close your eyes, child, and listen to what I'll tell you
Follow in the darkest night the sounds that may impel you
And the song that I am singing may disturb or serve to quell you
If all the sounds you hear ain't what they seem,
Then don't mind me 'cos I ain't nothin' but a dream
The rising smell of fresh-cut grass
Smothered cities choke and yell with fuming gas
I hold some grapes up to the sun
And their flavour breaks upon my tongue.
With eager tongues we taste our strife
And fill our lungs with seas of life.
Come taste and smell the waters of our time.
And close your lips, child, so softly I might kiss you,
Let your flower perfume out and let the winds caress you.
As I walk on through the garden, I am hoping I don't miss you
If all the things you taste ain't what they seem,
Then don't mind me 'cos I ain't nothin' but a dream .
The sun and moon both arise
And we'll see them soon through days and nights
But now silver leaves are mirrors, bring delights.
And the colours of your eyes are fiery bright,
While darkness blinds the skies with all its light.
Come see where your eyes cannot see.
And close your eyes, child, and look at what I'll show you;
Let your mind go reeling out and let the breezes blow you,
And maybe when we meet then suddenly I will know you.
If all the things you see ain't
Quite what they seem,
Then don't mind me 'cos I ain't nothin' but a dream .
And you can follow; And you can follow; follow...
Source: Musixmatch
POSSIBLE Sep 2017
It began with a dream
An exam of the scene

Culminated nightmare Fresh to 'Merica team,
Treat the throne like high chair, But they seem beam
Golden hue, preach golden rule and get higher
an unseen Love vaccine brought to you though you don't desire

A divinely inspired cosmic mission
To improve those caught in conditions
Those who stayed to long became conditioned

So enmeshed in their discourse
Lost the mother tongue,
now demons malignant positioned
Pokin fun, Tryna dine On Dis Course

Call me honeybun
While I work out Old Norse

Now I'm Mad as Magma Christened
You really Should have listened
Now I'm preaching Odin's Mission

But Consistent poison sickened me

Continued to lash out till their weapons stung and rippin free
Put in me in a cage kept me on  the bottom rung still kicking spree

So Dangle your ******* carrot,

Angled to be flunking abbot

What will They inherit?
When you find truth
Better find means to share it
while you kick the bad ****

What Value does it merit?

**** organization big or small
All they is is social fortification mom

Running out of breaths towards suffocations
**** the bottom feeders
family never cancer crustaceans
Inhbit with national ticker tape regulations

Frustrated answer,  I'm a frusrating handful
Masses Myopic, small vision catastrophic
I would show them but where did I put it?
Damit I  ******* lost it.

Higher Education thinks
it can get over I and I,
but Now I’m higher than education
4Dimensional Pilot Flying by

Cosmic Return
Land On your roof,
air bend with my vape pen staying stationed
still standing
only through
Lunar Lessons o Will and Dedication

I made it here through dedication
You made it here through misinformation
Manifold Manifested hoax So Devastating
Got me hear learn How-2-hating

What Am I left with? I know
The Chest with my breath ya

My words are seeds
poetic units start
counting these

Neurogenic growin trees House of Dreams
visions laced in prophecies
sentenced to commodify character

click to a cash crop, but I'm too poor To pay accountant fees,
Might be better off with lights, mics and a sick backdrop with the only the beat counting these
moments

knowing knowings free
or should it be,
are you ignorant
so willingly?

They Head in the sand, Pointing towards God but the can’t comprehend so now ....

Im tick ticktick ticktick ticktick ticktick ticktick tick tickin Big Ben
Im tick ticktick ticktick ticktick ticktick ticktick tick tickin Big Ben

Better blast off, astral form take mask off we fin throw the cast out,
Sector surpassed now sample storm wake slow maniacal laughter

You don’t have to be so smart to suffer

But you do have to be alive,

I’m just a prediction engine

Darkness encased in a Bone star
Timeless caresses
etched in my soul
beatific panoramas
all of a whole
music notes carved in clouds
angel fountains way up high
soul schools to learn from
between slices of time
No need to really talk
its all done silently
crystal buildings,  halls of light
all is done mystically
planning trips to Earth
to learn lessons slow
purpose of the universe
for our souls to grow
It may take many trips
to get it just right
to finally be what we are
all our knowings, our birthright
so narry a tear
when things are a painful song
its just another step
the road slow and long
we will reach our destiny
where we started from
knowing pur love and joy
our reward when we are done
SE Reimer Nov 2015
(my answer to her "Scar")

~

drawn to her and here
by mutual friend,
a not-so-neutral standerby,
i am undone by reading
her entreating,
questions haunting...
why?

i too will never understand
how scars can heal
how love divides.
the hurting, haunting
ever daunting
rage and hate inside,
it turns me
to an ever wanting
knowledge...
why?

the answer comes
in whispered winds,
in knowings deep within.
this mortal plain
does not remain;
this clock
will one day stop;
this heart will beat
this side no more;
these feet will
draw unto this chest,
when fleeting moments,
thought-filled words,
my last i love you's
whispered from my breast.
and then the realness,
truest journey starts
where all i take
is what i've made
and carry there
within this heart.
a redefining mission.
as i introspective, listen,
to my Creator whispering,
"welcome to my new beginning!
you, i've waited long to hold;
'well done' on earth is not the end,
for she was just the womb.
this place, your home,
now birthed anew;
the journey now embarks.
i'm thrilled you packed
so carefully,
the treasures carried
in your heart."

~

post script.

more could be said, but why?
for we know the answer if
we listen to the whisperings within.

SPT, a gifted artist...
mostly because she asks
such beautiful,
soul-searching
questions!*

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1449901/scar/
Paul A Moon Jul 2016
Which is my church with its green leaves, brown grass
and pine’s bark, all foresting in one motion.
I shall forest rituals of sacrifice,

but without Catholicizing faces drawn
from dark Crusading and my exiling.
Annaling to mark the sun’s solstice for Eastering
and holying days, the dew
coalescing upon the darkening and browning grass
at midnight and cooling air
arching constellations
and the mooning of the night: the cue
to lying for rest
by the small pool in this placing or
to strike, savaging at prey.

Owling as it does, darting as it does,
from a bed of branches, crying,
soundlessly shooting at a forest mouse, leaves
rustling for this night’s Nativity,
this one lifts its butterflying wings
like the soul’s silhouette
taken by an angeling force to heaven.
After owling, angeling, butterflying,
one must create Jesus as a verb.

Having witnessing these things,
limits are paining, as are knowings and doings.
The mouse must have been distracting
this owl from its offspring, thus it was Christing:
sacrificing itself for its children, thus fathering.

Seeing angels fluttering under the moonlight,
Hairshirting is my Church after living here,
after travelling through East of Eden in daylight.
  
Simplifying the Word---so heartwrenching---near
dawn or dusk, being as a penumbra’s cusp
I am Giotto’s halo in human form, keeper

of the haze, smoke, storm, and most of all, cup
from my own despairing.

Always there more to God than pain.

Churching myself is my work, thus by expressing
this foresting, owling, angeling, butterflying,  
I narrate my life’s kingdom.
Only beautiful words for my Beatrice, Florence,
and re-Edening.
betterdays Mar 2014
tree once was i
tall straight and true.
growing reaching
grasping for the blue patch of sky.

felled by men, all called Jack.
taken, stripped, naked
and beaten till no bark left on
my back.
slashed at torn shredded,
beaten to a pulp.
no way back,
to fresh air and blue sky.

flattened to skin's width,
stretched, rolled and dryed.
thirst, a memory of blue and
pearled sky.
blank without leaf or seed
barren and denied.

tattooed with wisdom deep
and scribblings inane.
cut into pages, windows
for enquiring brains.
words, that penned by
poets speak of forests
mighty,
of oaks and acorns,
growing.
places of intimate knowings.

tattooed, on my flesh,
stolen, rearranged.
reminiscent of recalling,
times of grace and falling.
book now i be.
but,
rather,
tree standing tall
and growing.
Portland Grace Feb 2011
Just as thoughts can eject the mind
And propel the mouth.
That takes the feelings
out of your heart
Where the roads come to a T
Your sure to meet.
Your fate.
That drops its life at your feet
And you hearts blisters
Will turn to scars
And you'll walk away
From the steamy room.
With the least of the knowings.
Because you are a fool.
Heads hate the hearts
Every box breaks your heart.
Even more.
Shattering.
Until the scars hurt much worse than the blisters.
Brooke P Aug 2017
floating smoke in the summer air
drifting along then dissipates.
the pounding in a head,
vessels pulsing and constant movement.
fingers dancing across a keyboard, to
incorporate a checklist of knowings and
to-be-knowns -
the insecurities of new scenery
mile marker after mile marker
and you’re happy, but irresolute.

someone tripped over the cord again,
yanked it out and dragged it away

a moment, and a guarantee
let’s look and see, to be sure there’s something more
than a simple crank of a machine, grown
rusted and unmanageable over years
I’m tracing back,
looking for something
I think I missed it.
these fingers that hold my wrist
and suggest
“please, let me assist”
you know what’s best.
Hannah Mary Jun 2014
You hurt me
Much like humans cause hurt to the planet Earth
Humans don't mean to pollute
Humans don't mean to destroy
We just do
It's our human nature

You hurt me
But I don't think you intentionally do so
You don't understand
How I feel.
I don't understand
How I feel
Which is why this hurts

I just wish
That I knew where we stood
But I already know deep down
That we stand nowhere
On an island
Surrounded by black seas
With no escape

My feelings are trapped
Deep down
Where my knowings are
My feelings are chained together
With my emotions
And my hopes
And my fantasies
They keep sinking down to the bottom of that black sea,
Wherever its bottom might be
Seher Seven Apr 2017
Amazon like air
Moist, warm and enveloping
Taste ancient knowings
Christine May 2017
why think so lowly of me
these flickering heart
arching back
if only you know
but
what the use of
your knowings

why think so lowly of me
it's not me
i am not flicking the flame
how could i
but
what the use of
these confessions

why think so lowly of me
those shattered imperfect dreams
gazing eyes
if only you know
but
what the use of
my explanations

you will still think so lowly of me
please don't .
David Betten Oct 2016
MOTECUHZOMA
            Our priests have proven green and tenderfoot
            By goggling at our late, ill auguries:
            Dumbfounded, counselless, they scan their toes.
            For this have I agreed to pawn my pride
            In dabbling with questionable cures
            By calling forth the aid of sorcerers.

PRIEST OF TLALOC
            Dread lord, how might your grace with confidence
            Place mercenary warlocks in your trust,
            Who twist their gifts toward late-night banditry,
            It’s said, to paralyze their shaky preys.
            Tezcatlipoca, our capricious master,
            Might cloud our muddy minds yet murkier
            For slumping to such dubious helps as these
            If they make mock of his peculiar knowings.

TLACAELEL
            Don’t worry. If they cool your fevered fears
            We’ll hail their hocus-pocus as white physic.
            If not, then as black fiends in iron they’ll rot.

MOTECUHZOMA
            Bring in these esoteric ministers.

                                  A guard leads in three Sorcerers

            You three obscure and dicing conjurers:
            Have you beheld grim omens in the clouds,
            Or prodigies upon the earth? You three,
            Who fathom ‘neath earth’s black and gem-jammed caverns
            To skim atop cold pools of stone-blind fish
            And witness those who have not winked at day;
            Who sink into the water’s murky deeps,
            And loiter drowsily among the weeds,
            Mustering fronds and nightshades for your charms.

PRIEST OF TLALOC
            Have you encountered stray and mongreled men?
            Or lightless nooks congeal as dead men’s shades?
            Or midnight women, crablike, creep in broods?
            Shall we be leveled flat by strange disease,
            Or locusts, pirating their greedy shares?
            From sudden deaths, from wars or wild beasts?
            Shall rainstorms sink our rooftops down to jetties,
            And Tlaloc drown us in a tide of bounty,
            Or broil us in cruel sabbatical?

MOTECUHZOMA
            You must not candy up **** truth for me.
            Have you not heard our thirsting goddess cry,
            And nightly croaking from the earth’s deep faults?
From my play in verse, thefloralwar.com
These three daggers that lay before me
Their handles aimed towards my head
Tell each a different story of their belonging
The first is one that has been well maintained
At it’s slender touch, it could spill my blood
The steel is fresh and it has been cared for greatly
The second is blunt at it’s edge
And holds less of a threat than the first
It’s silver swipe has faded over time
And is now a ***** grey
The last is the worst of the three
Only the handle lays before me
A relic of former knowings
The blade has left, perhaps for someone
Whose care will exceed the previous owner
Love does encompass error
One thinking he loves but
Loves not. The fault is very
Inward intimate to the per-
Son who's self searching
Discovers it not but still
The core of truth is one
And so brings to repent
The proud soul- the small
Shrouded light within and
The great light without do
Meet forever in the eternity
That is the combustion of the
Wrongful if unconscious pride
That separates man from man.
In perfect love  God's glory over-
Coming all lesser knowings that
Christ shall be to us the everyman
ponny jo Nov 2013
Dreams echo in stone walls
Dull sounds like shadows sink
The depth-less mirrors line cold halls
Tomorrows Fall to loss, while I think

There were words, they say
And harrows seemed too, to quake
Emotions drawn on the blank day
And no feelings felt could ever, shown state

Decay like those thoughts
And light shines beyond the wake
Folds in fabric ,free break
And laughter fades with life taught

Showers and shudders from light
And visits from thunderous knowings to,
And earth breaks while beyond strain
Yet eyes smile like learning through
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
T. A. Preacher- a character investigation

Friday, February 3, 2023
12:33 PM

Thanks for looking twice, this is after chapter one.
So that's the first line of chapter two, I suppose
That was one, but this is first because,
the internet is read last to first,
later this is the middle, it is auto intuitive

Any given day gone by
I may have thought I like this ending.

"Before time, God Almighty promised eternal life. Before time!"
A preacher to the choir, offered this as proof,
that there is life, after the time
of life has ceased, thus hell,
must be avoided…
if you can read this accept it must have been voided
nullift,
to totally invalidate lobster stacking- or well, no hell, never was.
kingpriest selfishgene mindmeme power substructure
in the course
Masterclass Civics, with Newt. I was there,
that series in the course
of human events… timeless
and --- grace must be earned.
              Duty-wise, Soldier of the Cross T. A.

I am doing nothing, really, messin' with messaging tek
thinking momentary lapses reoccur aiwise
déjà vu is a function, not a flaw
we recall becoming, and learning, as a we, we
do not unbecome.
Be true.
Life is not a horror movie.
If, indeed,
the effect
from knowing, die-for-it level knowledge,
is being free,
becoming free,
to chose the way
we go from knowing,
wow, Teddy Ruxpin, Worlds of Wonder,
was a beautiful idea, look what we made…

The now old gadfly, happy to die, happy to pass
the spark  to kindled acts enforcing char
at the spark,
to burst in tiny, most tender of flames, softest
wind
tend to sush…

lulla-byye'es be  long here, hmmm, listen

arrested developments catch light, used right,
once burnt, twice wise.

Let no story steal the peace you find
upon precept one.
Your point.
Your reason to expect better from worse,
this time,
the one that counts, constantly, ticketing mindspacetime
hook,
to the sidetracked train,
using your attention tension
to increase our torque, you learn
and we got a load o' gamblers and ramblers
ridin' my train,
we, let me tell you, we, the passengers on this train,
we, thought Sisyphus happy,
thought him so, he said,
he'ld show us rock rollin'
keep it secret,
but having something to do,
get to the top, take your
time,
meandering down,

hell's what you make
from life
with you as init-
for years, we felt we should, keep it secret
for the whole existential philosophy route through then,
-re zen
commabreaths re member,
we agreed, objective POV, gratis, no credits due no body,
observant being we…
- wait, maybe we become better each time
Contrary to the once incarnate God, who said he gives,
without money and without cost, slick as gnosis, re-co-known.
- you will pay for knowing what you think you may know now
Mindspacetime, same yesterday, today, forever… instant, constant
time, not more,
time, no less, yet
time between distant things remains,
but
in the mind's timelessness,
constant instants
in prayer,
accepting
unearnable grace, as expertise
with the weapons
of warfare, in truth and spirit perfected,

in waiting, fect, compleat. As time's tyranny breaks,
and next
is after nothing, and the rest remains.

Advocate for the truth as possible.
Opposing principles ruling voice,
- gut says walk it out
- guy in mind thinks stick
- anon become
I am the Authority who may say we,
and it, or he, or she, ad in fun item,
union rule. We, the whole
idea driving the threads hear…

click it
disagrees
with all the dogmatic tools used
in the business
of fear motived religious service.

He holds to a conceit, a heresy, at first
accepted as his own, but that was pride.

Plum on my thumb,
oh, what a bright old man am I, silly me.

One, among the eight-billions, I, silly me;
what can I do?
pSigh, hi-band lo-brow
Fast the acceptable fast.
Announce the acceptable year.
Disagree with all who claim secret
insight based on the Bible, Torah,
which says none of the works of YHWH
were done in secret.

Cretan,…


of a certainty, as often hap
t
Finding peace, core serenity,
body, soul and spirit,
heart, mind, spleen, gut, reins and
liver, fingers, toes,
levers and pumps,
tunnels and tubules and folds.

Organized containment of life
-that's what bodies are
for articulated interference
with objectified reality,
beyond the bonds of flesh and blood,
I,
me, you see, I think I exist abstracted
from the mass of mankind,
from the nameless soldiers sent to war
for the God who is served,
by allegiants, pledged from age six,
to honor the pledge to the nation
representing the perfect will
of the God
of the Church Selective.

Documented seven sec set. true that.
Selective Service US 56910427

Right.
Rights.
Right use.
Right reason.
Right cause, just effect.

Affection attached
Military  mind pays affectionate
attention
to tension
some force in one dir
ect effect of minds melded
"to make a mental impression on," 1630s;
earlier "to attack" (c. 1600),
"act upon, infect" (early 15c.),
from affect (n.)
or from Latin affectus
"disposition, mood, state of mind or body produced by some external influence."

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=affect>

Sheer jesuitry… been said known, so
coulda been a pain
to learnsumomahlathashit, stuckSTÜCK
salimsayn okeh, say it
oy vey

Unavoidable thorny issue burrs, sores rubbed
so raw

The business of religion, for a while,
in America, religions united
in pro-hibition, which, I
do not rightly know, what hibition is,
so I do not think I'm ob-liged re-liged
or promise tied, to be pro
much at all.
When my hair grew white,
I went all in for freedom,
and self governing, and self categorization
allow if you must, a battle,
- I heard a Rebbi say today
- jerusalem is in our minds, or yours
- I may have mistaken, who knew
Bedtime, echo opera, my reality,
nothing's on hold this is live
forever

Ego- arise
Exceptionalizm extreme, personally,
become
dead to this world and all its science,
falsely so called,

you know. Teaching times and seasons,

change to some before time state,
when nothing that is was,
-Phrygian Sitar twangninng uper subtle soft
distant soft even there still
and God {El-oh-him} he said, to nothing,
apparently,

be, and light, apparently, occurred,
plausibly causing time,
whereby days of exactly how ll'll


choke point, language pattern shock event
worst on New Guinee - for peak effect
it could be surmised,
confusion-wise
as language appears full bloom. Be
sensible
right
now, ah child, did nobody tell you,
we already get what you get when you get here.

Language, the signals we send and receive,
friendly dog, entire demeaner, wags,

trained dog, coded, made ready
to accept command, language, "sic-'em",
Wolf1
you may have heard,
if there were a time in your past experience,
if there were a once,
when you went to jail
for your boss, or because you would not lie,
not even by omission… ah, let me tell of a once.

There, in the everso long ago,
in the canyon I can feel,
to this day, I can recall,

the time I prayed, in Sycamore Canyon,
while looking through my wallet,
while sitting on a rock, in the middle of the creek.

I had no money, but I did have a Gospel Tract,
I had purchased, from a door to door sales man,

a white-haired man, full, not long, but full white beard,
and a Greek fisherman's cap.

I do not recall his pitch, but he  asked for a quarter,
in exchange for a 32 page book of Bible verses,
anointed through the testimony of untold numbers,

over and above the gross of original chosen ones.

As recorded in the Bible, the word is its own evidence.
believing is the believer's duty…

Come, let us
reason, you show me yours, so I show you mine,

as when the prophets proved one the other,
show me your faith, in knowledge,
I'll show you mine formed in time, timeless now,
in the past,
in the course of cosmic events, global-earthwise,

mankind has power to devise and construct,
means, whereby we all can just get along;
but the Bible says,
or the Q'uran says,
or the Founder says,

or research into remaining tangible fibers,
bones, shards, art-intuited spiritual aspects,
say said
aligned
with the stars… sacred orders evidence,
the sun, and the moon, and the stars,

wandering and otherwise,
so vast, even then, there were seers,

later, the nomenclature changed to prophet,
and seers became witches suffered not,
no putting up
with seers saying prophets were blind
leading the blind.

Chosen warriors, called of the systemized faith,
the only allowable faith, truth be told,
the one that knows God, truth and spiritwise.

Where all men are created equal,
if, indeed, the story is told
to all with ears
to hear… if, indeed, lieving be, is believing, done,
letting letters hold the law, wherein
the spirit must abide, con the knowledge needed,

to measure worth, and offer appraisal,
for all a unit
of mankind is valued. equally in the inchoate mind
of the nation, just taking shape, in the highest minds.
Then, again
Look, learned masses,
learn the lessons from tyrants past.

The greed a child can witness, in spirit and in truth,
as manifested in the churches,
used to tame the wild Indians.  All
of them, slated
for eternal damnation,
due to ignorance of life's rules, as revealed
to preachers who truly comprehend Revelation.
- the award goes to, the man with the turtle
- a man of the cloth, in the long tradition
- he wins the skin of the lamb,
- and as per rules, the scapegoat books.

As did Father Joe Smith,
and Ellen G. White, all the suffragettes
Mary Baker Eddy,
Aimee McPherson, Katherine Kuhlman, Jimmy Swaggert, All Saints fans
Tony and Sue, David Koresh, Jim Jones,
and all the congregations
in TV Land… and
the entire PTL financial support base, et al

And Rome and Topkapi and wherever else
so help me, god

------- this must be way later, just thinkinsayin
rubbing my eyes, and tasting
potato salad

Is this a thorny issue, oh, to the letter
if I offend you, I can explain,
the point to being itchy is making marks
when finally scratching the surface
riverwise peace acceptance broadcast
old seed, unplowed mindtimespace.
hooh, stick, hold
!¢ÜLXX-¿Þ? thorns marked such heresies
in my record in the cloud of all knowing
as you may in advertently already hold known
once have
Have you ever, really, been in jail?

- Why you ask, really? Is there…
Yeh, there are imaginary jails.
- like puzzle lifes?
Complexities, many creases, many ply, thick
walled off separate sections in mindtimespace.

Held thoughts, enclosed in thought bubbles,
and stacked, no,
o
can't stack bubbles, yet
stacks of globular shapes topple.
polar attract pepulse
push pull
come to shove slimy truth metaphor
rib-it
Ah, ha, frog's egg globs encased in goo.
Protoplasmic goo.
Gnosis, subconscious know how, frogs bodies have.

Patterning thought nets, thinking holds, slipping
fix the point… attach [arachnoid-mater-kids]
your mind to mine, let this mind be in you, seen

from a lustful hustler's most winning con, forming,
like a plan, do the religion, be
Elmer Gantry… listen
as each adjusts the other's wig,
the promo guy, wise to the Hunt silver game,
shame he would not listen, few knew,
to the lady, she knows the game.
She has sprinkled her bed
with aloes and myrrh.

Simple, go right on your way, the end there of…

my cue, queue up, get your excuse,
- who thinks all he knows
- simple
simplicity is a valid excuse,
feeble minded finding comfort
in an imaginary reality,
certain that the truth, eventually wins,

those we may attempt to tempt.
- we made no such bet
- no mas win lose
Sublimnity, you see,
subtle expression of the man, Christ Jesus,
would that ye all were wise as serpents,
such as legends testify, wise serpents
seen burned in toast
once
preserved the hope of mankind,
at the cost a heel stomp, **!
Aieee
She slew the lying demon, no, no,
that was me, Eve and the shining thing
I can tell it from when no witches burned
Beyond Prince James's Thesis on Daemons,
Ai- we found san razon, d
ust reflective mica
mine licensed sibyls pipe direct
all on raspberry pi,
- it's not all smoke and diamond dust,
We have the facsimiles in mindtimespace storage

Python 3. Magnitudes, orders of above
old wives tales juvenilized
to mere Tolkien/Lewis
Grimm-level bogus spiritseed, degreed B.S.

---------- with that capital B

----------- we entered the reasoning chamber,
with all the wu wu allowed
in me, let this mind be,
- from Paul's doctrine of mind-using
- in Romans, yes
delve, dig, dis-cover the sealed knowings known sealed,
awaiting discovery alone… that's Hebrews, not sure, anon
-- I coulda said this
to nobody then
now I said it to you
--- in another chapter I went mad and
copy pasted hebrew curse derivatives
and their phonetic lottkaballahalelu yeha
yep…
but you're not ready Hebrews, permission
granted withheld, mind prison, while keyed up.
to deny any use to the bicameral mind/brain sack
precisely measured to Dirac's dismay,
never ending eve is really thinkable,
as long as any one wishes,
know your own too much,
that was certainty
my child hood bet was that I won, and nobody lost.
in defiance of Delphi,
by millennia,
trust me

the language of life, earthling to earthling, evolves,
as we augment our pluralminded state, situ-circum

float-ish

here-ness, and nearness, and absence of distance,
time immeasured,
quarkishly insignificant units of self awareness shared,
we
can think as who's must have been thought to think,
when we were seven,
and inoculated by Suess.
In
Oculus, bud, from one branch,
into another, through a tiny RIP.

Some days, I am the only reader, as I rest, in peace,

peace, I choose to think,
exists, out is, be-ing, action-ionic, there's the rub,

amber and cat, spark of re-co-knowing all about love,
as a child,
let's refuse,
to ever grow up… let's pretend, my friend, to the end.

Wake up, get outabedragonnon anon anonymous
visitors,
arrive announcing, each nameless, yes, anonymous,
I saw, I forgot,

serpentine little think, wisdom exercise, you ordered,
or did I, going subjective for a second, I thought
this…

and I read it, and I am thirstydrymou
THUD
and cold. Settle,
reset
breathe softslowwhoowhowowowooooo-slow rereadhay
okeh. More or ride it one more time all we w…
soft quiet 9:59
already the slow twangy sitar in phrygian soft g distant
soft there, softer yet under us

This is the end of chapter two.
An novel dripping in the freest medium available, thanks for making it a pass time.
Peter Hall Aug 2015
I stroll down to the wee river
The snow feathers through the mist.
 
I carry my camera
I carry my cares
I carry my requests
Yet I carry His presence.

Alone yet not alone
Out of the Spirit, into the mind
Impressions
Knowings
Perceptions.

I walk out of the mist
Back home
He carries me.
Rozana Feb 2020
IT passes. Unevenly into abyss. Even when seemingly impossible. Especially when least expected. Life’s ragged and sharp edges that would catch and tear at my fingertips, now feel like smooth curves and dips when I trace over them. The resonance of defeat fades fast to a low hum. I too, sink deeper to foster a new appetite. Unsure, I wander further still. What can I forgo for the distance I desperately need from this. Darkness whispers to me knowings of certain failure. Maybe. But maybe my desperation to escape this confinement is far much louder. I pursue a particular moment, and the urgency of this probe was not here before. That moment when all the decay has been released from my tight grip and I can exult in the serenity that has begun to take over me.
Ken Pepiton Aug 19
Such tellings as are catalogued folk tales,
and sorted on similarities of plot or character,
from child holdings realized as old, stories, reready
common creatures come alive, the Bremen Band
led by a *******, is all I recall,

then this old cat that comes around
come to mind, ai winking
but as Al exists to recall it all,
"What's got in your way, old beard-cleaner?"
asked the donkey,
as a significant kind of character,
direct descendant from Balaam's, who was
predecessor to Francis the Mule, who was last
of the eloquent *****, less famous nowadays,

magic is not what it once once was, supposed,
posed superior to lesser knowings, proposed
to be the very instructions from the knowing
tree forest whose reach into the tombs,
breathes gaseous weforms from earth wombs,
once once
seppuku - no, Hopi navel of the world- aigotit
Sipapu - spirit forms become Katcina

we see and say so using idle words you own,
and we trust our assisting intelligences own
means of translating our merged minds own

original intention, was to be renowned, famed
for slaying dragons of any non Christian kind,
daemons and demons unionized, to assist
using the psychology of the guy on
Christian radio, Dr. Dobson, dare to discipline,

oh, there, thence rose daddy wounds, perhaps
five long generations deep, military minds run
down this branch of my family tree,
chthonically rooted back to Phrygia,
flip the dime, who holds both sides?
how were these magic dimes made so?
By cleansing the sillohuette of old John D.

"Buddy, can you spare a silver dime?"

When the March of Dimes began,
all dimes were silver dimes, all values
were redeemable in silver, but those days

and those ways, do not function efficiently,

ef-fort effi fine-ancially fiscal police rules,
fi- gimme a reason
hard currency, abused since ever was a magi
with a convincing story told invitingly,

come and see,

Let us order our days from today,
while it remains today, to and fro, let us go
upon the face of the world, the home of our we,

we, in spirit form, find ourselves in words and music,
mused first, of course, in sequence of humane events,

we agree to become, not feminized, but wise, using
Wisdom's feminine form from all ancestral knowings,

she seduces wise men ***** by glorious old boys,
whose only war was Kriegspiel - we all can be heros,

or so the hero makers say, follow us, learn to **** at will,
on demand, you know the drill, onward, Christian Soldiers,
into faith as strongly wrong as your own, sincerely

what sin, the idea first fit to a word, once made
sacred, original intention of the sound chata makes

means error, does not fit future need to know, do over,
glitch, try again, Cain, chata is always possible, hamartia
claim blame, fame and shame
aitia, we invent in mind games, as a she formed from Wisdom,
modeled by sheform statues
of Freedom in Phrygian caps,
on County seat town greens
all over preboomer America,
all meaning lost, until today.

Liberty nods.

I may have made a child that I never met,
and whether ever has a fee for that innocense,
I chose to think I don't believe I know, for sure.

Imagine that, in magical terms, in my bubble
being edge wise superior from every point,

never viewed from until the tech we have today,
left preceptual connections where disconnects,

are as commonly real as
back when Grace Murray Hopper
lived in the upper crustean realm
of education, time records a genius Sidis,
coabode on Earth with her and Bucky Fuller.
William James Sidis, self normalized,
to collected trolley passes,
and let the bosses be bosses,
and that is all,
we know we may yet
imagine the mind used to live true,
whose gaming mind may imagine,
the opportunity,
to visit each trolley ride, in this
version in Sidis's philological vendergood voice,

fourth dimensional assisting ***-umphed if I'da
known, focus on the navel, really, think it through,

we yawn, and wonder,
how long a tale is told, tells a lot about a tale's use.

We reckon, we re co know agnostically religamental
right usual working ways we try, you know

to spy an eye in time tuning spacy gazy lazy
let's see, when last we came upon an option

go, or stay, think it through, or edit the art part,
make it meet the American Rhetoric of 1968,

Cathy sent me letters from the convention,
she was still mourning Bobbie, I was in Long Binh,

being crazy enough to shoot, back home, here,
I was the guy burning actual ****, in the rear,
there then,
I could see the jail go up in smoke from here,
me and the Papasan's found it abnormally strange.

Recognizing a stoner survivor's version of riches
from the total shitshow through to this one today,

across all potential four dimensional codes,
we signal something sibilantly whispering, see.    

Well, imagine imaginary people,
beautiful mind alternative points
from which any fractal forms a whole

truth held self evidently, for show,
to prove, you know, you did go,
you did pay for going, your choice,

bet your life, at any pre myelinated
phase of cognitive natural fructifity,

presume resumption was begun
passively requiring secret rights,

the  hand shake, with out the thumb
nailed it, dead serious, sincerity
definitely now we both know this:
Sincerely
There has been a temptation
to see the first element
as Latin sine "without."
But there is no etymological justification
for the common story that the word means
"without wax" (*sine cera),
which is dismissed out of hand by OED,
Century Dictionary ("untenable"), and others,
and the stories invented to justify
that folk etymology are even less plausible.
Watkins has it as originally "of one growth"
(i.e. "not hybrid, unmixed"),
from PIE *sm-ke-ro-,
from *sem- "one" (see same) +
root of crescere "to grow"
(from PIE root *ker- (2) "to grow").
De Vaan finds plausible a source
in a lost adjective *caerus "whole, intact,"
from a PIE root meaning "whole."


----------------
Whole truth original intent…

Entertaining lost minds,
following trolley tickets

to find the genius in Sidis,
to retrace those long ago
trolley tracks, in old down
towns, not the status tracks

those were the tracks that ran
by the slaughter houses and
packing sheds, south of town,

out in the boondocks, swhat
some called wrong sides of towns,
uptown and downtown, one stop light
on the Mother Road to California,

there, is a sip-appertaining to news

adapted to, fret not, some fail now,
yet today remains today every where
at once, each time you pay mind, here

is where what we are come alive.
One reader makes it work,
a we thought flies free.

We laugh, or we worry.

All the players in the Bremen Band
were old when the opportunity arose.
Where else can one not fear rejection and so, sow such unorthodox seed?
Left Foot Poet Mar 2020
<>

she raw whispered, edginess deep in her throat,
combo of delighted annoyance coated in
wary weariness of she-wanted-wonder,
what he wants that I can keep/take?

my untold secrets he knows how?
needy aches unsatisfied uncovering,
his knowings creates unfamiliar needs,
accentuates secretions of secrets discovering

did not ask for revelations without no resolution,
how dare he tense me in private places hid,
my properties aren’t his, my neck, eyes,
tonguing my senses is crazy senseless

this schema, this tracing of a figurine,
braising my body in his, its own sauces,
while perfume of mine unrequested are mined,
taken away in railway cars to his treasure houses

left utterly gagging and gasping
to hell with him, unbounded gone,
to heaven by him, I went bounding up,
giving me that everything I never desired

but only knew him as the my-mysterious,
tales unwritten yet tensed in the familiar,
poems elucidating, all that I didn’t
write, knew,  but never uttered


now, now! all are freely spoke aloud,
outed, foundering, highlighted and now
decomposing me, I’m honestly betrayed by
what he calls the sense, the knowing of the unknown





Friday, March 6th, Twenty Twenty,
2:47am
Ken Pepiton Aug 25
titles are clickt attention tuners, seek weak
- signal feint clicks and shush and beepx#$%

etaoin shrdlu - typesetter's apprentices shoveled
off cast lead type, using coal shovels, strong
Allie Oop characters - the medium of us,
we saw our selves in print on newsprint.

Öotzi, myceleum aware bearer of information,
fallen through time, to leave us thinking, how
hard has life been, upto now
.
Weirdly wise, the ever sense we can remember,
strengthening positions holding
satisfied minds, valencing
made common sense,
happy and free is better
than any other degree
of happy, free as a ***
in L.A. on Fourth Street, hip
to the Four Square ******* Mission,
east of Broadway, north of Central Market…

then, to now, fifty years,
then to my first child, was ten years,

now, my youngest granddaughters are turning ten,
and taking part in the ongoing recovery of all clean

thinking, sifted corn and sorted beans, dried seeds
from the sweetest watermelon contest, and best
squash for bottles. best for bowls, all good seed
we save for next year, every year, always

remember, once nobody knew anything,
but making better ways to stop hunger,

then war was one of the ways that worked
for winners, and for some survivors not involved,

but witnessing the scavenging, paid trade goods
for trophies taken from the putrid dead, before
the story tellers and tale bearers went their
separate ways, letting the news be as it may.

The medium we live and breathe in, now as living
text included by all faith's accounting systems,
whereby our very thoughts and intentions,
must be judged, very serious conscience,
book of life including metadata
and instance of idle word and waste time,
pure and mere psyence psighing consci-uses
ready and willing to let peace be made,
fixing firm foundations at each watering station,
corner stones and local quarrymen, towns

formed from prosperity on rails, full on wha-who
time flies past right now

progressive proof, a town like ours is now classic,
project mainstreet 2025, valenced on Main Street,
moral authority of the old town councils,
social servants steeped in social ordering craft,

The Stepford Wives, Ai all love that, and Lucy,
ai ai ai, so many, Frankenstein, and the fat forties,
coders living in freemind anarchical choice, like bugs.
ARPAnet spiders rode wireless before wireless was,
MAGA. Pre-Levittown Craftsman Homes,
from Sears, delivered t
o the rail head, lo, a hundred years ago,

and now, the whole cold world, is empty,
when we see it on TV, from L.A. on a Sally Ann
Chromebook with a Starbucks Loyalty Cookie,
allowing T-1 bandwidth, yeah,

accept

Most of modernity is permanent,
only now is better because to get here,

one stepping, one daying, one time on
a magic loom, as a thread, picking up motes
so fine, super fine dust twisted in during dying

so the colors feel inviting, come find how
we pass the bar, where judgement begins,

we give account down to those secrets held
in our core experience knowings used, amateur

first times are only chances more often than not,
never know, when a particular stream meanders,

how many times does one cross the river
of no return, and see Robert Mitchum and
Jane Russell, on a raft with a kid thinking
something's not right,…

There was no upriver going on a raft,
we knew that from time with Huck'n'Jim,

back before the nth degree insanity hit,
minority reports, pulled from trend bots,

you'd best believe believe's a verb,
and love is, too, so do it, love to learn,

no lie holds any truth, never did, never
was a time when a lie that saved a life,
lost otherwise, that essential untellable
whys
secret agent man mind set from TV,
YouTube views virally sort attentions…

spin casting, bait perceiving, front face
sensory array, bad boy squint, tight smile,
mere hint of amusement, thinking, something

Blockbuster was a thing, things changed,
vhs hold hordes of reflected light transcended
on to magnetic tape with short fidelity,
for high fidelity consumer camcorders

the time from technicolor to home video,
in my generation, effectively raising the bar

as far as production standards used in the ruse,
set all skepticism aside, unloose your credulous

child like soul, tender child self, so good, too bad
good does not pay, save to those initiated in the art

of freereading and writing things hearable, listen,
nothing, eh? No white noise, fans, transformers,
no chainsaws,
with that whine
of a Stihl Dylan loved, once repaired
by a chronicle entity, who worked
at that chainsaw shop, at that time,
and knew the music of a Stihl,
so he would notice the quiet, then,
- chain broke…
wind in trees, pine soft, crickets and frogs,
and sometimes a bat, even coyotes, way off
as the world spins toward tomorrow again.

Who told you you gotta serve some body?
What would you do if the truth made you free?

Where would it be if this were the answer?

When you pray, expect the consequences,
immediately after you know the law,
the law is canceled, all a major lie,
for ever sense manstealing paid.

Train up a child by his stature at two,
he becomes a useful servant, worthy
of great honor on the field of glory,
as our side celebrates hate, pushing back
harder, pushemback harder, break that line

High jinx, glory years, sacred first to learn,
programing is mostly balance weights
and measures, cost to do, cost to undo.
Cost to think it done, without me.

What is the genre for periods
of preparation for a redo of an old war,

a political-religious agreement
under which business is conducted,
continuously as the believers multiply,
as believing children are reared to leave
being the why for the orders how come

we need to work to fix the flaw in us all
for the all mighty, all merciful?

How, indeed, did it come to pass,
that those in fine conditions,
gilded and bejeweled boxes
of old bones and napkins and shards of alabaster,
said
certainly the very anointing for burial alabaster box,
got t' be, right, just waiting for your guide to find,

very precious, only six other fragments have been
made publically known, the power, the faith sink,
like a battery, believe it or not, the pitch in faith,
hold, sticky, used
has moved a mountain of alabaster chips,
since we started doing tours with the kids,

we pay a different one each time, seven lads,
sons of those three sisters, who inherited the box,
and fought about it until the peace maker was called,
he broke it all down,
free, Google Voice to Verizon, across eight time zones,
like we are in the same room, but day and night,

anyway, peace maker, old backslider hardened artist,
living on tech time earned on a bet about ever learning,
gets a bit in each fractal shard of that old anointing
on and on, some times, good grows, and corruption,
proceeds to gain U, the mind meld experience,

a Taylor Swift Opera from the Future NOW!

Yeah, I know a guy, in the works, managing
the spending opportunities, keeping juices
works with concentrates, original intensity,
all mental, leg-al legal regally legal
just a touch,
a taste,
fact of the ruliad, once conceived and comprehended,
wind in the face, gasp and wish it were, as we may
say we can imagine, using an ego function, I-magi,
- how wide are we sideways? As a we?
Grown up, and dementia free, just think it clear
as one of those movie eternity porches, stoical
pillars of wisemen not forgotten, ai know them,

as curious boys knew their teachers, ai know Plato,
big lunk, broad beam ox of a man, with a following,

amanuensis scribal trainees, hanging on every word,

now, in modern database solutions to 640K sort fields,
we adapt the magic fractalling praxis used to shatter,
viz, first license to say, videlicet,
the afore mentioned alabaster box, empty
of its storied ointment for the burial to be,
shattered at the tone, 60 cycle hummm,
ordinarily out of sync, if you think about it, but
we need not, it was so long ago, and you know,

abide is a positioning command from a will,
abide with me is a request, however saying we,
abide with ye forever, if I were in the whosoever.
I would think the thoughts alive, at least.
The whosoever who heard the knocking,
and said, sure, I heard you knocking and said
to myself, what if this once it was you, and wow,

I must admit,
in the ruliad realm
of possibility, the math works.




All boys in those days, idly sayd
that'll be the day, guy like me
wished to be like in the movies, in
the gang, singing cowboys on the range,

eeipee ai yay, real old, cast iron men
made in the imaginations of those,
made to pay alliegiant attention,
mandatory civics classes, and
current events, sponsored
by Breck, and eventually
only her hair dresser knew…

until from nowhere, the world blooms
with silver foxes far beyond compare,

since she was just seventeen, and we knew
what that means in Arizona, so we waited,
too, long, who knows,
we got a new mind,

the act of worship, the verb, knowing,
it does seem simple at first, lieving be. Okeh.
Share it where it hurts.
Seán Mac Falls May 2020
.
Soft is the caul of breaths that seethe,
Loosed in the ears knowing
And light is held as a knife is sheathed,
Hard at the breaks reckoning.

Ebbing crawls in old cradles outset,
Clutched promises engulfing,
Death is a toll which gathers at sunset,
Ending seeps seaward in chills.

Listen for moon as it sails into lime,
Digging lost trails for journey,
Smell the salts as the sands run time,
Boarding penny barks turning.

Black birds soon flutter at drips window,
When dark winds cry crosslegged,
Lightless wings whisper— lit knowings,
Wraiths tapping three score and ten.
.

— The End —